Under Lock And Key

Gal Ritchie has worn that steel belt for twelve months, heat between her legs baking against cold metal until her thoughts dissolved into one long ache. Tonight she cracks. She texts a woman she barely knows and Kenzie Taylor shows up with a smirk and a key on a chain between her breasts. "Earn it," Kenzie says. Gal goes to work. She peels off her clothes until only the belt remains and drops to her knees, lips brushing Kenzie’s inner thigh, tasting salt before she even reaches the prize. She licks with long, hungry strokes, nose pressed deep, chin slick, every noise she makes feeding straight back into the throb behind her cage. Kenzie leans against the doorframe, one hand tangled in Gal’s hair, riding the rhythm without giving an inch. "More," she murmurs. Gal answers with fingers sliding in, curling, sucking harder until Kenzie’s thighs tremble and her breath hitches into a broken moan. Gal keeps going—tongue flat, then pointed, then buried again—until Kenzie’s grip tightens and she comes hard, soaking Gal’s mouth. Only when Kenzie’s pulse steadies does she reach down, twist the key, and let the belt fall open with a soft metallic click. Air kisses Gal’s swollen flesh for the first time in a year. She gasps, hips jerking forward on nothing. Kenzie watches her with lazy satisfaction, already sliding two fingers between Gal’s slick folds. "Good girl," she says, and starts again—slower, deeper, with nothing between them now but skin and the wet sound of Gal finally getting what she paid for.